The Millionaire's Daughter
by Cookie VanDeKamp
Summary: AU. Emeralda Verdaria is the only daughter of the richest man in New York City. But when she meets a talking frog in Central Park, her already-unpleasant world turns upside down.


**Chapter One**

New York City, 1992. The city was filled with people, magical and nonmagical alike. Though witches and wizards usually got along well with ordinary humans, magic-users were among the most well-respected people in NYC. Everyone knew how much trouble a magic-user could cause if they really wanted to. Like make the stock market crash, give someone warts, make themselves win the lottery.

Or, oh, turn a young heir into a frog.

* * *

The sun rose on the Greensward Estate on an ordinary Tuesday morning. The courtyard was green and perfectly mowed and looked beautiful, despite the noticeable lack of flowers. The marble statues of deceased former residents of the Estate gleamed in the sun. The smell of breakfast wafted out of the open window in the kitchen.

Emeralda Verdaria, the only daughter of the current owner of the Estate, Limelyn, was currently asleep, but the sound of a loud crash would soon change that. Her green eyes opened and she sat up, wondering what could've caused it. The sound of barking and a maid shrieking quickly answered that question.

_Bowser_, she thought sleepily. _That dog is a menace…_

She was about to roll over and go back to sleep for another hour or so, when a knock on the door woke her up completely.

"Emma," a maid called into the room, "your mother wants to talk to you. She's in the TV room."

"Thank you," Emma called back, groaning inwardly. She and her mother, Chartreuse, avoided seeing each other as much as they possibly could. If she actually _wanted_ to talk to her, it wasn't going to be pleasant. Emma forced herself to get out of bed and begin the long, painful job of making herself look good enough for her mother.

* * *

"Good morning, Mother," Emma said softly as she slipped into the TV room, where her mother was watching some soap opera or other. "You wanted to see me?"

"Sit down," Chartreuse said by way of a morning greeting. Emma obeyed and sat in the armchair across from where her mother sat. "I wanted to warn you to be on your best behavior today. Beltran is coming to visit."

"Today?"

"Did I stutter?"

Beltran Renault was a good friend of Chartreuse's, though she rarely saw him in person. This was partially because Beltran and his wife, Melanie, and their son, Jorge, lived in San Francisco, and partially because Beltran and Limelyn got along so badly, it was like a warzone anytime they were within the same 100 feet of one another. In fact, Chartreuse had already informed her husband of Beltran's visit, and Limelyn had suddenly remembered that he had a business meeting that day.

"I'll behave myself, Mother," Emma sighed, knowing she'd get yelled at later, no matter what she did. Despite having gone through etiquette lessons from the day she was born, the fourteen year old was clumsy and socially awkward; not good for a daughter from a family of millionaires and socialites. Emma had long since given up on trying to impress her mother and gain her approval. There was always one grade, one handshake, one awkward pause that would incur her wrath.

"Jorge's coming with him," Chartreuse continued. "You haven't seen him in a while."

"…Jorge's coming?" Emma repeated faintly. Chartreuse just gave her daughter a sharp look. She hated repeating herself. Emma quickly stood up. "I, um, I… I have to go now, Mother. Mr. Wilson assigned me a lot of homework and I want to get a head start," she said, referring to her Latin homeschool teacher.

"But what about your breakfast?"

"Oh, don't worry about me," Emma said, laughing casually (or at least, she _hoped_ she sounded casual). "I can grab a bagel from the kitchen or something."

Emma hurried out of the room before her mother could object, tripping over her own feet as she went.

* * *

"Crap, crap, crap, crap, crap, crap, _crap_," Emma muttered to herself as she made her way through the many, many hallways of the Estate. She couldn't stay if Jorge was coming. She had never liked Beltran much, but she liked his son even less. Jorge was stuck-up, rude, and, for lack of a better word, a jerkbag. When she'd first met him when they were six and seven, Jorge used to break Emma's toys and pour lemonade on her head. While the two had matured (somewhat), the relationship had not.

Without a second thought, Emma was out the back door and in the busy city street. She wove in between people, ducked under arms, and went through a couple back alleys until she reached her destination.

Central Park.

Emma, who had lived in NYC her whole life, knew the park like the back of her hand, but she still went there at least once a week. She enjoyed the statues and the plants, and she especially loved the pond. On warm days she would sit by the edge and dip her toes in if no one was looking. On cooler days she could sit on one of the benches nearby and watch the ducks swim. Even in the winter, the sun on the ice and the snow around the frozen pond looked so pretty, she could be there for hours in below zero weather and still be happy.

On this hot summer day, mosquitos seemed to follow Emma around as if someone had stuck a "BITE ME" sign on her back. She had forgotten to bring her wallet, so she couldn't purchase any of that salve her aunt recommended, so swatting and complaining would have to do. As she sat by the edge of the pond, a fly circled around her head a few times, annoying her enough that she finally smacked it.

"Thanks a lot."

The voice startled Emma. She jumped, almost falling into the water. There was no one around—no one that was close enough for her to have heard them, anyway. She glanced around again, before calling out, "Who said that?"

"You're not very observant, are you?" the voice drawled. "I'm down here, right under your big nose, Hawkface."

Trying to ignore the snide remark about her nose, Emma looked down. A little green frog was sitting on the grass, glaring up at her.

"…did you… _say something_?" Emma asked, feeling a bit like an idiot for talking to a frog.

Much to her surprise, the frog replied, "I was going to eat that fly, you know."

"I'm… sorry?"

"Apologies won't bring back my lunch, little missy. Not all of us can just ring a little bell and have supper served to us on a silver platter, you know."

"Well I don't have another fly in my pocket, so a 'sorry' will have to do," Emma replied, growing annoyed with the frog already, though she was still perplexed by the sheer absurdity by the situation. Then again, witches and wizards did make up a good chunk of the city's population, so there was probably a magical explanation.

"I'll bet you've never been hungry a day in your life," the frog muttered.

"I haven't eaten all day! My mother went and invited her friend Beltran to come and visit and when I found out he was bringing his son—"

"Wait. Did you say Beltran?"

"Um, yes."

"As in Beltran Renault? The guy who basically owns the stock market?"

"Yeah."

"So if he's friends with your mother, that means… your family is pretty well-off, aren't you?"

Emma blushed and mumbled, "Well, I guess you could say that."

The frog grinned at her. "I do apologize, my fine lady! If I'd known I was in the presence of someone of such high social status, I would have never made such distasteful comments."

Emma rolled her eyes. "I think I liked you better before I said that."

"Ah! Delighted to hear that you like me!"

"You misinterpreted that statement by about a mile."

"May I ask you one teeny-weeny little favor?"

"Maybe."

"May I have the honor of a kiss?"

Emma stared at the little creature for a split second, and then howled with laughter. Her laughter didn't at all resemble her mother's soft, elegant giggle or her aunt's musical chuckle. Instead, it sounded like some weird hybrid between a donkey and a sheep. At least, that's what Chartreuse had always told her.

"That's… quite a laugh you have there, Miss," the frog said. "It sounds like—"

"A donkey, I know," Emma said, wiping away tears of laughter from her eyes, still snickering. "I've heard it before."

"So… anyway… about that kiss."

"Um, thanks, I guess, but no thanks. I don't go around kissing people I've just met."

"What do you know about kissing?" the frog snorted.

"What's to stop me from squashing you flat?" Emma asked irritably.

"What if I told you _why_I asked you for a kiss? Would that help?"

"Not really."

"Can I tell you anyway?"

"If I said no, would it matter?"

"Look, to make a long story short, I had a run in with a witch a few months back. I made a few… dry comments about her attire, and BAM. I was a frog."

"What does this have to do with a kiss?"

"It's like that old fairy tale, the Frog Prince. I need a kiss from a rich girl in order to become human again."

"I thought the kiss had to be from a princess."

"That was back in the olden days. This is the 20th century."

"Fair enough."

"So, kiss me?"

"Wait. How do I know you're telling the truth here?"

"What, you don't trust me?"

"…_no_."

"Please?"

"No! Judging by what you eat, I bet you have awful breath!"

"Okay, rejecting a simple request is one thing. Insulting me is quite another! I just need a kiss!"

"The answer is no, so stop asking!"

"Please, Miss, I really—"

Emma got up and glared down at the frog, doing her best to appear intimidating. "I don't care if it's the end of the world as we know it. You are _not_ getting a kiss from me!"

And with that, Emma turned on her heel and left, trying to ignore the look of horror and helplessness the frog gave her as she walked away.


End file.
